


John's Journal - the Start

by AugustaAugustus18



Series: John's Journal [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After TLD, Angst, Drugs, John's POV, Journal, M/M, Post-Mary's Death, Post-The Lying Detective, Rating May Change, Sherlock's scars, on-going, post-tld, s4 compliant, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-01 15:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaAugustus18/pseuds/AugustaAugustus18
Summary: I describe my situation — my thoughts, my emotions — like a banana smashed against a windshield.  Just a whole bunch of gunk.  Now I have to pick it apart, pick through it, to get to the issues to clear my mind.  I just want to get my thoughts and impressions down — no editing — the first thing is the true thing.  No worries about misspellings or grammar.  Just get it out as I’m feeling it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a reader, not a writer -- that's what my dash says. But there's so much to process and I need to work out my own thoughts separate from what other writers are saying. 
> 
> So two points: 1) many of those other authors are much, much better writers than me, and 2) none of us would be here without Moftiss.

15 Feb 

I have to start writing things down. My mind is full and things keep going around and around. Different scenes.

I'm still with the same therapist who I can see on my lunch hour. But there's so much that I can’t tell her. So I’ve decided to keep my own journal. Perhaps writing things down will help me to clear my mind.

I describe my situation — my thoughts, my emotions — like a banana smashed against a windshield. Just a whole bunch of gunk. Now I have to pick it apart, pick through it, to get to the issues to clear my mind. I just want to get my thoughts and impressions down — no editing — the first thing is the true thing. No worries about misspellings or grammar. Just get it out as I’m feeling it. 

Rosie is with Sherlock’s parents temporarily. How do I feel about that? Well, Mary left enough money for Rosie and me to never lack. I mean it was a lot. I guess I’m not surprised. As I was thinking about what to do, Mycroft approached me. He, his parents and Sherlock had conferred and had a proposition. Without knowing what Mary had left, they offered to undertake all the costs of raising Rosie, including Rosie’s education to the best schools (they are offering public schools if I want to consider it but it’s too soon). Then while Rosie is still young, they offered her to live at his parents’ house. Due to their age and her age, a full time nanny would be required for these years. His parents live in a pleasant big house in the country. There would be plenty of play space, good early childhood opportunities close by. His parents are getting up there in age and can’t be full time surrogate parents, but they’d welcome a child in their home. (“You’re family.”) Then they would come down or we go up once a week depending on what is happening work wise. Rosie seems very happy. I’m relieved on a lot of levels. We’ve tried this for two weeks now and have gone up each time. I miss her a lot. 

(Actually Mycroft was helpful with Mary's estate and then finding a few other bank accounts that weren't mentioned in her actual will.) 

Of course I had to share what Mary had left us, Rosie in particular. That led to a conversation about me taking on her costs, which are completely affordable under the circumstances. But finally Sherlock came and put his hand on my shoulder and I said yes. His parents expressed happiness to have her young energy there. Mycroft pretended to stick up his nose at a young child but he turned away and his shoulders heaved. 

But what’s bad is I feel I’m in sludge and can’t make a clear decision on my own, but am going along with these offers. Then I’m also so aware of the loyalty behind the offers. I know they are doing this because of their loyalty to Sherlock, and Sherlock is dedicated to me. I can see that he’s perhaps more dedicated to me than me to him. 

16 Feb, Cloudy

It’s not easy finding time or place to write this. I have to make time in moments between activities: seeing to Rosie, making sure I keep my morale up, visiting Sherlock and seeing in on his recovery. I read newspaper articles about crimes to him and he comments. Make sure he eats something.  


This is a very private journal — do I let Sherlock see what I’m doing? do I keep it from him? Let’s be realistic, eventually he will “deduce” what I’m doing. I’m sure he’ll be too polite to ask questions or look, but what do I say to him? Well the truth is the therapist situation is not completely satisfactory. I mean the therapist is good but she always wants me to say more than I can. With a journal I can spit this stuff out when I can say it instead of in some artificial time slot. When I can get this out. And let’s not forget the “Dr.” Eurus experience. No time to go there now. So I’ll just admit to Sherlock, if this comes up, that I’m doing this. No secrets. No lies.  


When I visit the therapist I’m careful of my language. But here in the journal, I don’t have to constrain myself. 

18 Feb. Sunny  


Beautiful day. The Holmes, all of them, are here chattering away and working on how to set up Rosie. I’m interviewing nannies later today. Molly has a couple references. So does Mycroft actually. (Now that’s another story to examine.) This is all unsettled still. It seems weird to not live with Rosie, but I’m not strong myself. In fact, sometimes I’m afraid I’ll drop her. Or I’ll get too drunk and not hear her crying. I don’t want her to have a memory of alcohol on my breath. My head wants to explode. It’s good she’s with the Holmes at the moment. What is best? I went for a long walk today. We won’t have full sun again for the foreseeable week. 

19 February 

Sometimes I think Sherlock knows he’s helping me to recover as I sit there with him, reading the newspaper together. Damn-it he can know too much sometimes.

Friday, 24 Feb, Cloudy. London

Sherlock is getting better. He has more energy and a lot of sarcasm. By the middle of January he was dressing himself and by the end he was back to dressing like the posh git he is. So, I have a story. 

On the next visit to him following the birthday cake I came in and Sherlock was still sleeping and so I made for the kitchen. Turned around and there he was, standing in the kitchen doorway, in his sleeping clothes and robe. Truthfully he stank up the room. He’s been too sore to take a shower on his own and I guess no one else said anything. So I said, you need a shower, today — we both need you to take a shower. So after tea, I went in and started the shower. Sherlock went in the bathroom and shut the door. After a moment, he re-opened it and said bluntly he needed some assistance because he couldn’t raise his arms over his head without a lot of pain. He still had on his clothes, so it seemed he needed assistance taking his t-shirt off over his head. He stared at me then bent over so I could slowly lift the shirt, guiding it over his arms. He straightened up and faced the shower and dropped his pants. With the shirt off, I could see what I had done to him. There were still bruises around his ribs, back and top of hips. They were about a week old and had started to age, and so had a greenish look. I felt like shit. Then I saw the scars on his back. More scars than could come from Sherlock’s normal athletic idiocy. I caught my breath. I didn’t move for awhile. Neither did Sherlock. He continued to face away from me. Finally he stepped in. I stripped myself down to my pants. Washed his hair. He rubbed down what he could reach. I helped with drying afterwards starting with his hair. Finally gave him the towel and walked out to allow him to finish up. I put back on my trousers and then I found him clean, loose clothes and another robe. When I returned to the bathroom, Sherlock was standing there with the towel around his middle. He offered his arms one at a time, and then bent over his head. I helped put his t-shirt on over his head, then left the rest of the clothes on the toilet top and walked out. I felt very agitated. I had never given any thought to something like this. I have never seen his naked back since he returned. I don’t know if these are scars from a whip or something that happened in his years out of touch. I haven’t brought this up to him yet.

Monday, 27 Feb. Cloudy, no rain. 

I resolved Rosie’s and my living situation plus permanent nanny. I’ve hired a full time nanny -- someone the Holmes found close to them -- and Rosie will live with the Holmes. At first I wanted her in London with me, but it would be wrong to bring her into Sherlock's household permanently. And it's wrong to think Mrs Hudson wants a young child in her house permanently. The elder Holmes have the room. I can visit up there and have set a routine of a 2 day visit once a week. 

I feel like I'm abandoning Rosie and should be a better parent.


	2. Chapter 2

28 February 

The nanny is settling in with Rosie. They both live at the Holmes. There’s enough space that Rosie and the Nanny have their own set of rooms. Then they join the Holmes for part of the day. I visit by Skype. For awhile I had Skype on constantly but that seemed over the top. But you can’t be too careful. On the other hand the nanny has a right to privacy and I can’t be watching constantly. Though am I acting out of guilt? Still it’s very nice to look in and see their daily scene. 

When Mary disappeared I had help too, but that was a London family. Neighbors. I’m still in touch with them and if Rosie should come down here or if the full-time nanny needs a vacation, I think I can call upon them again. They are from my life with Mary so I don't know if we will all keep in touch, to be honest. 

When I sit with Sherlock a sense of peace takes over. He’s sleeping a lot and that’s part of the recovery. He’s stopped shaking and has fewer emotional swings. We go for walks, even in the rain. 

To tell the rest of the shower story: back in January Sherlock was still very sore. At my next visit after the shower, again he seemed improved but recovering from addiction is a long slog, and of course the injuries I inflicted. His hands were still unsteady. He had his shaving instruments out. Of course he wouldn’t have an electric shaver but had an old fashioned straight edge. After we ate something and got settled, he sat on the a kitchen chair and I shaved him. Hadn’t done that before. I tried to think of it in the same way as dressing his wounds. His beard is actually more ginger than his head. I guess we English all have a bit of Viking in us. 

Then I asked “what about your hair” because he couldn’t really reach it and it had grown quit long for him and tangled where he slept on it. I found a large-toothed comb and combed through the curls, which by this time had become more like long waves. It was reaching his collar. All in all he seemed to brighten with this attention and grooming. He looked away from me, but said “Thank you, John.” 

I left early that day. I was agitated all over again. Walked a lot of the way home. Took time to think about selling the house Mary and I “shared.” It was really her house, bought with her money. 

Wednesday, 1 Mar, raining 

We went for a walk earlier today. When we got back, it was apparent the flat was a reeking mess. I guess I gave a loud “huff.” We agreed something had to be done. I can see that it’s part of Sherlock’s recovery that he perceives the mess and has enough self awareness to want to clean up. We got some black bags and started with the obvious. When it was time for me to leave, he said he would continue and besides there were some things he would want to examine before tossing. I think I took 5 full bags of pure garbage down to the front. Hope Mrs Hudson doesn’t complain.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday, 3 March, London

I’m moving ahead to sell Mary’s residence. Good riddance. 

But before I do so, and while I was thinking of what to do, Sherlock mentioned that I’d be welcome to move into 221B. I could have my old room. We ended up having a long talk and discussing a lot of things. For instance, even though Sherlock cleaned up his apartment, it’s still not child proof. So we discussed childproofing his apartment against a curious toddler. That conversation went better than I thought it might. Sherlock was actually on board and had thought about some of this. Nothing has to be done right this minute. Selling the property will take a little time and then moving my things into 221B. 

Monday, 6 March, London

I called an estate agent and a charity mover today. All of Mary’s things plus the items we owned together will be discarded or given to a charity. Rosie’s things are few — a special cradle that was my own as a baby. (Harry had it and gave it to me. I had no idea it existed.) Once I get the ball rolling on this end, I’ll go over to 221B and start setting up the upstairs bedroom. 

Friday, 10 March, London, Cloudy

Something interesting happened today -- Lady Smallwood dropped by unexpectedly. Sherlock immediately made some tea and I gave up my seat to her and took the straight back chair at the table. Not much was talked about out-loud. There seemed to be a knowing conversation between Lady Smallwood and Sherlock. But between some the half sentences there seemed to be an apology from Lady Smallwood to Sherlock about involving him in her private affair, and an apology from Sherlock to Lady Smallwood about letting things get so out of hand. Something about her visit to him quite a while ago had set into motion actions which had unforeseen consequences, including consequences to his health and the fate of others. 

Finally when it was time to leave, she and Sherlock were both standing up and she took a card out of her bag. “I have your contact information….” “Oh, no, this is the card of my housecleaners. They are very competent and very discreet. You need a good cleaning if you’re going to have a young child here.” Sherlock, to his credit kept his mouth shut. Lady Smallwood said good-day and departed. As I tidied up, Sherlock put the card on the mantel. 

One thing nice about Mary’s and my residence was it was very clean and light and airy. 221B has always been more of a “bachelor’s flat.” Direct sunlight almost never enters it. I never noticed that until now. However, 221B presently seems much more inviting to me. It seems like I should be at 221B. Though we will have to be tidier.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday, 18 March, London

Really don’t find the time to write this, but it’s helpful when I get to it.

My thoughts keep going back to January, and the events around Sherlock’s birthday and Irene Adler’s text. He’s forgiven me, but I think about how I hurt him. Sherlock was so sore. His face was puffy and his movements were slow and painful. This is something I have a hard time thinking about — how I beat him so viciously. I know I have to face this side of myself. It’s hard to even put into words here. I started to bring it up with Ella — just once so far and I couldn’t say very much. I know I have to get honest about it.  
After the text from “The Woman” and I guessed his birthday, finally I let go and confessed my infidelity. And Sherlock came to me, and held me. We stayed that way. After all I did to him, he comforted me. Truthfully, he held me awhile. I never moved away. Neither did he. 

Molly was supposed to have the next shift. I contacted her, told her about the birthday, and we agreed to meet at a nearby cake shop. We 3 must have been a sight. Sherlock was beat-up and had “the hat” on. Molly was so relieved that he was turning a corner that she was sort of giggly and doting on him. My eyes must have been red. Molly and I each must have been weepy at one point or another. Sherlock kept quiet but smiled — a sweet genuine smile that I don’t see too often. When he smiles that way, his cheeks get several big creases on each side. He had two pieces of cake. 

That hug was a changing point for me. I felt so much anger fall away. I felt the barrier I put up between Sherlock and me fall away. 

When I left that night, I had to walk for a while. I thought about the hug. And I thought about the way he looked when he smiled that way.


End file.
